


That Rushing Sound In Your Ears Is Love

by gala_apples



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe- Minecraft, Bloodplay, M/M, Past Sex Work, Sky Factory, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 20:50:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15957272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: Those three words mean everything to Gavin. They mean he’s desired. They mean he’s safe. They mean Jeremy needs him. Those three words are beautiful, and speak to his soul.I need blood.





	That Rushing Sound In Your Ears Is Love

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt uniform kink for seasonofkink.
> 
> I've had this in my head for ages, ever since I watched the opening credits of American Horror Story: Cult, and fell in love with the two blood soaked lovers. If I could make a gif of it, I would. [here](https://youtu.be/B0csnVQ0ZKA?t=50s), for your own visuals.

Gavin keeps a lot of secrets from Geoff. It’s not usually a good idea. Whenever Geoff finds one out -which is basically inevitable- he gets extremely mingy. But the thing is, that’s _future_ getting mad. Instead of dealing with it in the present, Gavin can push it ahead to who knows when. It always seems better to let future!Gavin deal with it.

This one is going to be bad though, when it comes out. 

For as long as he’s been alive, Gavin’s known the power in a good trade. It’s why he works for Geoff. Geoff has the ability to raise the rarest of chickens, but he doesn’t pay enough attention to the precious metals and other goods they produce. It’s Gavin’s job to cart that shit to town and find people willing to barter. What good is it to have a coal dropping chicken if they don’t have flint to start a fire in their hearth? Not to mention that the chickens aren’t cannibals, and Geoff hasn’t yet grown one that drops chicken feed. The amount of times Gavin has traded iron for chicken feed is innumerable. 

Believe it or not, it’s not a huge leap to go from trading goods for goods, to trading services for goods. There’s no such thing as a bow chicken, or a music disc chicken, and sometimes a man needs to shoot some arrows or dance to some tunes. Gavin’s not about to steal from Geoff to have anything worthy of bartering. Not when he has his mouth, or his arsehole. It’s no skin off his nose to barter himself. Eight times out of ten he comes during the encounter. Another one he’ll depart unsatiated, until he’s deep enough in the forest that he can jerk off without interruption.

Gavin knows for certain Geoff won’t like it. He’s a very protective man. Life is simple for him, as a chicken farmer. Gavin might go as far as saying he doesn’t even have a sex drive, except he’s seen some of the drops a flesh chicken makes, and they are distinctly sex shaped. Even knowing that, though, Gavin can’t imagine telling him that the best orgasms are the ones where you walk away with material goods.

Well. Were the best orgasms. The new best is in a very different category altogether.

The Wand of Long Distance Communication sits on Gavin’s bedside table in the room Geoff has given to him. It’s a clever device a townsman with more crafting skills than Gavin could ever have invented. They’re expensive, along with everything else Jack The Builder makes, but well worth the price. After all, it’s how Jeremy beckons him. It vibrates when Jeremy is trying to speak to him, but sounds only come through if Gavin grasps the magical wood. When the recipient holds the LDC Wand, the contact holds for up to one hundred words spoken. It’s one way communication, the easy solution around that being the recipient letting go, and picking it up again to become the speaker.

Gavin doesn’t reply to Jeremy’s call, which is certainly nowhere near one hundred words. Gavin opens the drawer in the table and pulls out his sack of enderpearls. It takes three before he lands near enough Jeremy’s castle that it’s feasible to walk the rest of the way. Jeremy The Mage likes his privacy.

There was a time, once, when Gavin wouldn’t have been at someone’s beck and call. A time when hiding from Geoff wouldn’t have been his number one priority. A time when his romance was a matter of exchanging the occasional kiss with one of the local town square jesters, before he redonned his potato mask and continued shilling for the crowd. Things are different now.

It started innocently enough. Well, as innocently as people getting beaten up during sex can be. Which, yeah probably isn’t very, but the thought is there. It couldn’t have started had it not been innocent. Gavin met Jeremy buying goods from the same tradeswoman Gavin was selling to, and a few jokes later they were retiring to a favourite inn of Jeremy’s. Drinks and snacks turned into Gavin following Jeremy home, which turned into sex. Each time they had sex, hands got rougher, caresses turned into pinches and pushes. Gavin loved every mark he came home with, even as he took care to never show his marred skin to Geoff.

Then one day, it happened. Gavin thinks he’s too young for such a deciding event, too young to divide his entire life into Before Batton’s Invocation and After Batton’s Invocation. Still, there’s no question that teleporting to Jeremy’s side for entertainment only to find him aggravated beyond belief, pounding his fists on his grimoire changed many things. Batton’s Invocation is a spell to speak to those on other planes. Some can be easily accessed via a portal; the Nether, the End. Some are far harder to reach. Gavin can’t even remember what plane Jeremy was trying to reach that night. That fact has withered to unimportance compared to what remains: that the spell required blood, but despite Jeremy trying it with his own cut arm several times, it didn’t work. If Gavin closes his eyes and thinks he can still hear the casual tone of his voice with crystal clarity, offering to spare a few drops if Jeremy wanted to try one more time. He remembers caring only about jollying Jeremy out of his bad mood, wanting his boyfriend to be content enough to be up for sex.

And it worked. Of course it worked, because Batton’s Invocation only works with the blood of a second party. Gavin knows if he ever had to tell Geoff this part of the story, Geoff would assume the worst of Jeremy. He’d say that the ignorance to the mechanics of the spell was faked to lure in Gavin. Gavin’s sure that’s not true. He trusts Jeremy. He was just as surprised as Gavin when the pink tinged portal opened in the air above the desk, and speaking into it caused frantic music to play at them. The Charismatic plane was open, not that they knew how to properly communicate with beings who speak only through music.

That night Jeremy was so happy he fucked Gavin against the stone wall, otherworldly instruments playing the whole time. Gavin clung to Jeremy, sliced open arm throbbing and leaking through the hastily wrapped bandage. It was a surprise to both of them how much Gavin liked that cut. A simple wound added so much to the rough play of their sex it was outstanding.

Things spiraled from there, as things always spiral. Maybe too far. Certainly if anyone else were to be asked. Even Gavin wonders, sometimes, if what’s happening is alright. But each time Jeremy found a new spell requiring blood, Gavin offered himself. Again, and again, and again, and it’s not like Jeremy ever forced it upon him. For godsakes, their ceremonial outfits were _gifts_ to each other.

It doesn’t always happen the same way. Sometimes it’s the obelisk, if Gavin’s feeling particularly lazy and just wants to lay down. Sometimes it’s the blood pool. Sometimes it’s being tied up, and Jeremy flicking his Wand of Separation at him. And sometimes it’s a little more personal, Jeremy so close to him Gavin can smell his aftershave, before the knife starts carving and the smell of copper overwhelms everything.

What is always the same is the clothing they wear. Winter solstice was the first time Gavin had ever exchanged gifts with a lover, and as it turned out, the same thing that was on his mind was on Jeremy’s. Hence Gavin walking to the bowels of the castle to find Jeremy in the laboratory wearing light brown trousers and a crisp white linen shirt. The lighter the colours, the better for bloodstains to show. 

“Hello, Gav.” Jeremy gets up from his desk, grimoire of the day opened to whatever inspirational page made him call him. Gavin gets a gentle kiss on the cheek, and then it’s down to the important things. “Are you ready? Have you eaten?”

“I’m ready.” He hasn’t eaten particularly recently, but he and Jeremy come at this from very different angles. From Gavin’s side, light headedness is a benefit, not a side effect.

He strips naked, bright green tunic and dark green trousers in a heap on top of his shoes. Technically the only thing he needs to take off is the tunic, his own ceremonial uniform is simply a shirt. But there’s no sense in getting blood on his trousers, not when he doesn’t know what level of stealth will be required to get back onto the farm today. So he removes his entire outfit, and then Jeremy brings it over. His precious bloodletting shirt.

It looks like a simple shirt, and the fabric feels the same. Maybe it’s an unearthly shade of brown, maybe it seems to pulse when it’s picked up. Gavin can no longer tell if the signs it gives off are real, or a figment of his all knowing imagination. Whatever the case, he does know what will happen, and so he slides it over his head, and lets the fabric fall down his chest and back. Once it’s on it tightens, makes itself snug like a snake grasping for purchase. But that’s only the first bit of magic, and by far the least consequential.

The first few moments hurt the worst. Jeremy stands with him, forehead to forehead, holding his hands. The contact helps Gavin breathe through the pain of the shirt growing barbs and pushing into his skin. Once the blood begins to flow, the pain, well, it doesn’t _stop_. Gavin can still feel it. He’s just feeling it from a dozen enderpearls distance. It’s away from him, shoved away to make room for the smell, and the ticklish drip, and the pride of Jeremy being so delighted by him.

And the blood _is_ flowing. In all directions, not just ones directed by gravity. Magic doesn’t really give a shit about natural laws. The first drops that drip upwards to his mouth make Gavin lick his lips. The inside of him tastes pretty good, if he does say so himself. Coppery, like digging in a mine. Rich. 

“Want a taste?” Gavin whispers.

Jeremy does. Gavin finds himself enveloped in a kiss, tongue against his, mouths moving erratically thanks to the slip of skin on blood. Their hands break free of each other, Gavin’s more interested in tugging Jeremy close against him, leaving a Gavin shaped bloodprint on his pristine clothes. Jeremy’s, meanwhile, move frantically over his hips, side, back. Anywhere that he can touch and smear the gushing blood a little more. The bloodletting shirt is only one way, Jeremy risks nothing putting his hands against the outside of it. Gavin hopes that even if he did, he’d still touch him, because the added pressure drives the barbs in a little more. 

Gavin makes out with Jeremy until he’s lightheaded. For a moment he doesn’t know if it’s due to the lack of oxygen, or the blood loss, but when he pulls away and takes a few deep breaths he stops seeing sparkles. Good. That means he doesn’t have to stop yet. He steps back in, and this time realises as their bodies collide that he’s hard. Jeremy’s hard too, behind the curtain of trousers, but Gavin’s wearing only his shirt. It’s just another thing the bloodletting shirt provides him; the freedom to rub his cock against the blood drenched fabric of Jeremy’s body and truly enjoy himself.

Jeremy keeps trying to stroke Gavin's hair, but it's matted with blood, and each caress is a tug. Gavin doesn't tell him, because Jeremy might stop. It doesn’t hurt, or it does distantly, away from him while he’s in the place where it doesn’t matter. What does matter is Jeremy, and how much he loves him, how much Gavin feels loved. When the blood is pouring out of him, making the stone floor slick under their feet, Gavin feels so loved he might burst. And he owes it all to this beautiful shirt, the first gift he ever got from a lover.

“Come on, Gav. Come. Add some white to the red. I wanna see your belly turn pink, sweetheart.”

He’s hyperventilating now, impossible to tell if it’s an effect of the blood loss, or just his body working its way to orgasm. The same can be said of the dizziness, and the sweating. Funny, how coming and bleeding out do all the same things. Almost like some higher power intended for people to do what he and Jeremy do. Gavin thinks he’s laughing now, he can’t quite tell with the world spinning, but he hears laughing and his mouth is dry. He comes, balls contracting like a heartbeat, a single pulse pushing more out of his body and deeper. When you drain the body all that’s left is the soul, right?

Gavin collapses, then. First to go is his head. It droops down, far, until it’s nestled on Jeremy’s shoulder. But it’s not enough. He’s still overloaded with control, there are still too many processes running on limited redstone. His legs buckle next, chest pitching forward until Jeremy staggers with his weight. Gavin goes down, Jeremy’s hands under his armpits helping him to the floor gently.

Once he’s down, Jeremy begins stripping them with the utmost care. The white tunic -fully burgundy now- and brown trousers, the bloodletting shirt, they’re the single most precious things they own. If Jeremy had a maid and that maid mishandled them, Gavin would happily kill them for the disrespect, but you can’t go killing yourself, all that does is end this experience. So the only option is to be delicate. 

Nudity complete, clothing carefully relocated to where it can be washed, Jeremy gets onto the floor with Gavin. Soon it’ll be time to bathe, to eat and replenish fluids. The nice thing about the bloodletting shirt as compared to Jeremy’s other bloodmage methods is it doesn’t leave open wounds. As soon as the shirt is off, Gavin’s skin is perfectly unmarred. Still, there are other cares to take. It wouldn’t do for Gavin to pass out on the cobblestone halfway home. But those are all worries for the future. Now, Gavin snuggles into Jeremy’s thick frame and thanks Frances Batton for leaving such a legacy. One stupid spell has given Gavin everything that he now holds dear. Bless the woman. May she be in peace and euphoria in the place beyond the End.


End file.
